KHARO CHAN, PAKISTAN — Habibullah Khatti stood by his mother’s grave one last time, surrounded by silence and salt. His village, once full of life, now lies nearly deserted — its soil poisoned by seawater, its homes crumbling, and its future extinguished.

“I never thought I’d have to leave,” said the 54-year-old, as he prepared to move his family to Karachi. “But the sea has taken everything.”

Khatti’s story is not unique — it’s part of a quiet exodus from Pakistan’s Indus River Delta, one of the world’s most climate-vulnerable regions. Stretching across the southern coast where the Indus meets the Arabian Sea, the delta has become a graveyard of drowned homes, abandoned farmland, and lost livelihoods.

An Ecosystem Starved of Water

The root of the crisis lies upstream.

Since the 1950s, water flow into the Indus Delta has plummeted by 80%. Massive irrigation canals and dam systems, first constructed during British rule and later expanded for hydropower, have diverted critical freshwater away from the delta. What little remains is now heavily impacted by climate change — diminishing glacial melt, erratic rainfall, and intensifying droughts.

The result? Seawater has marched steadily inland, raising soil salinity and transforming once-fertile land into lifeless crust. According to a 2019 government study, more than 16% of cultivable delta land has already turned barren. Another report by the Jinnah Institute revealed that over 1.2 million people have been displaced from the region over the past two decades.

“The delta isn’t just shrinking — it’s sinking,” explained WWF conservationist Muhammad Ali Anjum. “Without freshwater to flush it out, the sea is swallowing it whole.”

From Fishing Nets to Abandonment

Kharo Chan, once a cluster of about 40 villages, is now a ghost town. Its population has fallen by more than half since 1981. The local economy — once supported by rich fisheries and rice paddies — has collapsed under the weight of saltwater intrusion.

In the nearby town of Keti Bandar, what used to be farmland is now white with salt. Boats haul in drinking water from miles away, and residents fetch it by donkey cart.

Fisherman Haji Karam Jat had to watch the sea consume his home. He rebuilt farther inland but knows it may not be far enough.

“No one wants to leave their birthplace,” he said. “But when the land dies, staying isn’t survival — it’s slow death.”

A Cultural Erosion Alongside the Land

This is not just an environmental catastrophe — it’s a cultural one. The tight-knit fishing communities of the Indus Delta have passed down traditions for generations. Women mended nets, men fished or farmed, and families lived close to both the river and the sea.

Now, as families flee to overcrowded cities like Karachi, their identities dissolve. Women, especially, face isolation and unemployment, having lost both their work and their social structures.

“We’ve lost more than homes,” said climate activist Fatima Majeed, whose family left Kharo Chan decades ago. “We’ve lost a culture that lived in harmony with the water.”

Restoration Efforts Face an Uphill Battle

In 2021, the Pakistani government, along with the United Nations, launched the Living Indus Initiative — a multi-pronged approach to revive the Indus Basin. Part of it focuses on reversing the ecological collapse of the delta, including efforts to reduce soil salinity and regenerate local ecosystems.

The Sindh government has also undertaken mangrove reforestation projects, as mangroves help buffer against saltwater intrusion and protect coastal communities. But progress remains uneven.

While new mangroves sprout in some areas, rampant land grabbing and unregulated development continue to erase others. Meanwhile, rising tensions with India — which revoked a 1960 treaty regulating the Indus’ waters — threaten to further restrict Pakistan’s water supply.

Pakistan has called India’s move to build upstream dams without cooperation “an act of war.”

A Vanishing Delta, A Vanishing Future

The Indus River, originating in Tibet and running the length of Pakistan, supports nearly 80% of the country’s farmland. But at its southernmost stretch, where it once fanned into a rich and vibrant delta, life is disappearing.

The collapse of the delta is not just an environmental issue — it’s a humanitarian crisis. Tens of thousands are already displaced, with millions more vulnerable.

As climate change accelerates and water policies remain contested, the question looms: How long before the rest of the delta follows Kharo Chan into the sea?